I used to joke that I have always prayed for patience, except I would say to my Creator, I want patience, and I want it right now!

The splint they put on my foot is not the smartest solution… Obviously I can’t wear shoes with it, and it hampers movement, not that I should be moving much but I do have to go to the bathroom and things like that, and what it does is it makes me fall, which I just did half an hour ago trying to get to the bathroom, not bad at all but could have been worse (o positive outlook, where art thou now!).

The nurse or paramedic left a bunch of bandage which I guess came off while I was sleeping and then made a nice piece of additional stuff to help me fall, uncommonly useful of it, and finally I crawled up, don’t you know, went to the bathroom, and dragged myself here to the computer. Patience, Silvia, but it will be probably something to take off and continue dragging the foot as a (temporarily) useless appendage. Yes, the doctor and the nurses and everyone else at St. Rose’s were wonderful and beautiful, just that it is not practical to send someone home with crutches who has never used them (could I create a new dance form with crutches… el cha cha chá de las muletas…)

It has reminded me powerfully of Joan falling and staying, naked on her knees by the bed, embarrassed as all hell, until the paramedics could rush here, lift her, throw a gown around her, and rush her back to the hospital. I may fast for six weeks, as it would help with bathroom needs, ha ha (and more than likely make me very thin, so less weight to carry around!). It has also reminded me of at least two of the friends I have made at the shelter, one in a wheelchair, and one, a veteran, propelling a leg in front of him as an extra appendage. Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O LORD. Lord, hear my voice: let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications. (Should I make my supplications in Spanish or English? Do they speak esperanto in heaven? Ah, there’s a question for the ages…)

For what shall it profit a woman, if she shall gain the whole world, and lose her own soul? Fortunately my new inclusive bible is on its way, I will miss the King James with its poetry, but at least I will have something to do to while the hours, only 2,880 hours minimum to go to have the fifth metatarsal heal completely. (Note: please let it be four rather than six weeks, it’s a smallish thing to add to my list of requests, including the ongoing prayer for the sanity and heart of the rest of the inhabitants of the planet…) The doctor told me it was the most common fracture, the metatarsal being the long bone that connects to the little toe, which I fractured many years ago when Caterina went into the hospital with Lyme disease, and was having a spinal tap, and I have always thought I twisted my foot and broke the toe out of motherly terror, a common condition they never tell you about when you are considering having children, and which I have not found in any medical manual, but I promise you it’s always present. In its worst forms it turns your guts into water. (Memo to self, write humorous piece about maternal terrors…)

The first unit in my studies toward ordination deals with my belief in God, the names for the Creator, the feminine presence of God as Wisdom, Sophia, Chokmah, Sapientia. Being flat on my Cuban you-know-what will give me an amazing amount of time to ponder Sophia, the feminine principle. I also want to explore humor in, around, and about God… Lily Tomlin once asked: Why is it that when we talk to God we’re said to be praying, but when God talks to us we’re schizophrenic? And that old favorite of mine, Tom Robbins: You wonder if God doesn’t have an answering machine to screen out the prayers of the venal and the boring? And in which category has he placed you? (Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas) [Note to self: find all the Tom Robbins novels and re-read them. Probably still in a box in the garage… or in Alessandro’s storage unit! New Note to self: disregard last Note to self].